06/17/2007

The view from Sunnybank

A Titanic challenge for nobody special

By Dee Blair
Local columnist
dblair@
voyager.net

Read Dee's past columns here
Read Dee's Good Dirt blog

"Never, never, never, never give up.”

— Winston Churchill

Yesterday, as I was gathering up large lawnmower-disabling twigs and dozens of hefty pinecones littering the lawn from recent gusty winds, my eye was caught by something decidedly odd near the edge of the sidewalk.

A huge, dead insect seemed to be moving, ever so slightly. The creature's legs were long, and the color — an electric blue-green — was still vivid for this part-bee, part-dragonfly, part-grasshopper. Frankly, I couldn't decide what it was.

Intrigued, I watched. There was no wind, no reason for the motion I'd detected. Six legs poked stiffly out. I nudged it. Yep. Dead as a mackerel.

I settled back to ponder this mini-mystery.

And then — it moved again! On hand and knees, with my nose to the ground (it is a good thing deceased bugs don't stink), I was astonished to see an ant — a VERY small ant — huffing and puffing, putting his all into shifting that enormous carcass. Micro-millimeter by micro-millimeter, he was making progress, although rapid calculations on my part determined that by tomorrow he'd manage perhaps another two inches.

I carefully searched for a nest in the grass, but there was absolutely nothing for three feet in any direction. Yet his agonizingly slow, focused persistence indicated Ant knew exactly where he was going with his titanic prize. Eventually he'd drag it down his home-hole, where everyone would high-antenna him, then feast on megabug protein; aphids would provide dessert. (These highly complex creatures routinely enslave aphids and "milk” them for the honeydew they secrete. The aphids benefit; ants offer protection from predators.)

I could almost see his mind working: "Let's see, if I run back here and push the back end, then dash up to the antennas and pull, then hurry over to the abdomen”…

Busily calculating, then lifting and shifting, had to be wearing him down. But he had a goal and he would meet it, somehow. Never mind that this prize was immense, while he was minute. Never mind that a giant shod human foot could, at any moment, instantly obliterate him. Never mind that his home was far, far away, deep in the jungle of gigantic green grass blades looming ahead. (If it was difficult now to shift Bugzilla, imagine what he'd face two inches from now; those dead, stiffened legs would snag on the grass blades — heavens!) He had no family or friends to help, no way to phone home. Ant was on his own here.

Puff. Groan. Shove, then, movement! See? Persevere and never fear.

Perhaps he'd pondered his options: 'Well, I could abandon the body, and run home to summon help…but then other clans might claim it, and there goes dinner. Not an option.

I could wait for rain; water drops would mean less friction. "And, if there were a really good downpour, this whole endeavor would be dead easy. All I'd have to do is guide the corpse…but rain isn't predicted any time soon. Not an option.

"I could assume that some of the clan will eventually follow my scent trail and lend a jaw…”

(Ants exemplify teamwork. THIS option, I decided, had been accepted as the most likely.)

A peculiar sensation crept over me. He was moving an object 100 times his own weight. To NOT move it, or become discouraged, didn't occur to him. I was deeply impressed by the ant's ability to plan, his inexhaustible enthusiasm, and his refusal to cry "Uncle.” Ant relished the challenge. That speck made me feel small.

Checking again one hour later, I shivered in awe; ant and mega-corpse had vanished!

Sunnybank Garden, 325 Sixth Street, is open to visitors most days from around 9 a.m. until evening, though groups planning a special trip should call ahead (929-4351) to be sure. The sign out front announces open times, which may vary.